P R 

[57 




DOBELL COLLECTION 






^ ^ 

^ 









\3 



SONNETS 



#%r Downs. 



THE HON. MRS. O. N. KNOX. 



LONDON. 






r\* 






CONTENTS. 



SONNETS. 

PAGE 

" I have no wealth of grief; no sobs, no tears " i 

" Oh Lord my God, how little hast thou laid " 2 

The Explorer of this World to the Explorer of Another - 3 

A Cry to Men ........ 4 

" You lift your hands, and pray to God for grace " - -5 

Lament of the loyal Irish in 1869 - .... 6 

Lament of the prematurely aged .... 7 

" I honour thee by silence, and thy praise " - 8 

Love's Prisoner speaks ------- g 

To Death, the Saviour - - 10 

Madge and her Lovers - - - ■ - - - 11 

Lines - - - - - ■ - - - ■ - 14 

" Out of the deep " - - - - - - - - 16 

England and Pauperism ------- 17 

Song _-.-.--■---■- ig 



CONTENTS. 



Oliver Cromwell 

Song 

A Picture -._*"■". 

A Prayer ---..'_ 

" Closed Doors "-..__ 

An Epitaph 

i Corinthians iii. 7. 

Parted ---.__. 

" Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only 

shalt thou serve " - 
To ........ 

" Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh " - 
Sonnet - - . . 

S °ng ----... 
" The withered buds of Hope " - 
A Fragment --.... 
Song ----... 
England and Secular Education - 
Ballad ---.'.. 



26 
28 
29 
30 
32 
33 
34 

35 
37 
39 
42 

43 
46 

47 
48 

49 

5i 



Dedicated 



TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF 



M. O'B. 



SONNET. 

I have no wealth of grief; no sobs, no tears, 

Not any sighs, no words, no overflow 

Nor storms of passion ; no reliefs, yet oh ! 

I have a leaden grief and with it fears 

Lest they who think there's nought where nought appears 

May say I never loved him. Ah not so ! 

Love for him fills my heart ; if grief is slow 

In utterance remember that for years 

Love was a habit and the grief is new, 

So new a thing it has no language* yet. 

Tears crowd my heart : with eyes that are not wet 

I watch the rain-drops, silent, large and few, 

Blotting a stone ; then comforted I take 

Those drops to be my tears, shed for his sake. 



SONNET. 

Oh Lord my God, how little hast thou laid 

Within my hands ! How few, how slight the things 

Which thou hast let me regulate : yet brings 

This thought its answer; "Thou hast disobeyed, 

•' And small as was thy trust, it is betrayed. 

" Think on the kingdom that thou hadst to rule, 

" The kingdom of Thyself, and look, O fool, 

" At all the faults in narrow space arrayed; — 

" What room is left for times when right was done ? 

kW Those few, small things thou hadst to regulate 

" Shapeless remain, tossed to and fro by fate." 

Self-smitten, O my Master, I must shun 

Unripe ambition ; for my work is great 

If it remain undone. I strive and wait. 



SONNET. 

The Explorer of this World to the Explorer of 
Another. 

Those listeners had not strayed with weary feet, 

Nor drunk foul water in their bitter drought, 

Nor had the sun their very brain searched out, 

Nor by grim relics had they ta'en a seat 

Where bones did their forerunners' fate repeat ; 

So hearkened they in silence nigh devout 

Till all was told, and then their sudden shout 

Shook my lean body thro' my pulses' beat. 

But ah, my brother ! I in thought retrod 

The days when thy worse loneliness declared, 

Thy missing of the track that leads to God, 

Thy solitude of soul — how then thou hadst fared, 

For, thee reviling, thy soul's risk they spurned ; 

That thought flamed thro' me, and with shame I burned. 



SONNET. 

A Cry to Men. 
Say to men, women starve, and will they heed ? 
Say to them women drudge and faint and die 
And sin, discrowning womanhood for aye ; 
Beseech men piteously to mind their need 
Of wisdom, who must little children feed ; 
Implore them for her sake who stands on high 
Enthroned, yet nestled in each heart, to try 
If those (her sisters) may be saved indeed; 
Saved from starvation, saved from overstrain, 
Bloom ere they fade, not wither incomplete, 
So low, so fall'n, such dust beneath the feet! 
Say this to man, and wilt thou speak in vain ? 
Time, like a mist, thine answer from thee veils, 
Yet cry, weak voice ; cry while thy strength avails ! 



SONNET. 

You lift your hands and pray to God for grace 

To tread down Satan underneath your feet 

When a fierce struggle with him comes : you cheat 

Yourself with hopes that now, that for a space 

You may be noble, where your life was base, 

Have strength bestowed by God whom you despised, 

Obtain that mercy which you never prized 

And overcome a foe you dared not face. 

Ah, fool and blind ! canst thou not yet perceive 

How equity is found in all God's ways ? 

Thou shrinking, burdened one, He will not raise 

The load thou dost not strain at. This believe ; 

That prayer is weak when born of present need ; 

It should be life-long, shaping word and deed. 



SONNET. 

Lament of the Loyal Irish, 1869. 
England, that once with hard averted eyes 
Strode on her way with Ireland chained behind, 
Now throws towards her sister glances kind, 
And turns an unreluctant ear to cries 
Which, strengthening with her strength, from 

Ireland rise : 
For chains she proffers ties that better bind, 
And her remorse breeds Ireland's better mind. 
Something is gained — how much beyond there lies! 
O Ireland ! wert thou moderate and wise, 
Prompt to join England, give her honour due, 
And as her acts are, were thy feelings new — 
What gain were this ? A clamorous few disguise 
Your sentiments ; before the world you stand 
A Fool who dares not do the folly planned. 



SONNET. 

Lament of the Prematurely Aged. 

Oh youth ! why hast thou left me ? I am young: 

With Martha, Jane and Thomas dost thou stay, 

Strength giving them for work and zest for play ; 

O'er all, for them thy magic thou hast flung, 

Till in their joy they sing as I have sung. 

From them how gently wilt thou steal away 

And not a joy remove till its decay 

Peace compensates ; peace that from age has sprung. 

Oh otherwise, far otherwise with me ! 

My years excused thee not, yet thou hast fled : 

Was this because with Age my life is led ? 

Ah cruel ! chose I this society — 

These grandfathers and great-grandaunts myself? — 

Leave children, come to me thou naughty elf! 



A SONNET, 

Which saith that the Lost One cannot be 

made known to those new friends 

which come after. 

I honour thee by silence, and thy praise 
I would not undertake ; yet now my heart, 
Sodden by tears, its firmness gone in part, 
At one enquiring word, one kindly phrase, 
Rebellious at the bounds I set, will raise 
A picture of thee, futile, blurred and faint, 
Drawn from a memory. Yet shall restraint 
Be once more paramount, that in my ways 
No strife with fate be seen. God doth erase 
And man may not re-write. Majestic gloom 
Descends upon what was, and in the tomb 
All record that I had to show decays, 
And this by ordinance of God. His will 
Decrees a blank nor tongue nor pen can fill. 



SONNET. 

Love's Prisoner Speaks. 
One crossed my path and stretched out hands for mine, 
Love-laden were they, and Love sent a light 
That quivering downward in eyes darkly bright 
Made them deep wells wherein mine own did shine. 
How for that one I made my heart a shrine, 
How worshipped there, Love's happy servants know. 
And ye, Love's bitter slaves constrained to go 
Where lies your idol marred, no more divine, 
Who kneel there yet, with eyes not raised but bent, — 
Ye know these tears, they cleanse the idol not ; 
This pardoning which can make no wrong forgot, 
These kisses behind quivering lips scarce pent, 
This marah-fount of hope which nought can dry, 
This living death of love, which dares not die, 



SONNET. 

To Death, the Saviour. 

Not that disease his cruel hand has raised 

And clutched away thy beauty and thy strength, 

Threatening to hold them all thy sad day's length — 

It is not that which made the eyes that gazed 

Falter and fill with trembling tears that dazed 

My inward vision, like my outward view, 

Till hope and courage faded, and I knew 

A bitter dread which left me dumb, amazed. 

No, it was this ; that fell disease should gain 

Over thy virtues and thy steadfast mind 

A hold which thro' long years of health to find 

All sins and all temptations sought in vain. 

Aye 'tis this dread which sometimes makes me dumb ! 

Death, tho' I love him — ere this comes, oh come ! 



" MADGE AND HER LOVERS." 

God made me charming, so they came 
Like leaves in autumn, thickly ; 
A light wind brought them, but the same 
Removed them just as quickly! 

This one came mincing ; from afar 
He seemed to think I saw him ; 
Lord ! Lord, how vain these Lovers are ! 
Perhaps he thought I'd draw him. 

See now, another comes this way 
And shows his purpose plainly ; 
He knew me not till yesterday, 
This haste is so ungainly. 



"MADGE AND HER LOVERS." 

And here's a man who sometimes weeps, 
Why can't he look more cheerful ? 
He doesn't walk, he bends and creeps, 
I think the sight is fearful. 

I was so tired of them all 

Or ever they came near me, 

I sighed and said, " The skies will fall 

" Before you're wed I fear me." 

I turned ; behind me stood a man ; 
How long had he been waiting ? 
I thought, "which is my better plan, 
Or loving looks, or hating ?" 

But ah ! he stood so very still, 
His looks alone besought me, 
He waited simply on my will, 
And that was how he sought me. 



"MADGE AND HER LOVERS:' 

I could not keep him waiting there, 
I could not go and leave him ; 
I stayed and stay, nor do I dare 
To say a word to grieve him. 

The strongest winds that ever blow 
Now bring no Lover near me ; 
He thinks that this is better so, 
And I — have him to cheer me ! 



LINES. 

Oh child ! long years have passed away 

Yet hid within my heart to-day 

Thy whitest, fairest form is lying where it lay. 

The room was dim, the shades were deep, 

I saw thee lying, fall'n on sleep ; 

And then I said aloud, " May God her angel keep!" 

I thought " She feels our Lord's embrace, 

She looks as if she saw his face, 

She will not change again for she has found her place. 

Thou seest how long a time has passed ; 

I thought that I should follow fast, 

But now day follows day and never comes the last. 



Oh canst thou hear me ? Wilt thou plead 

Before our Lord, and tell my need, 

And say, " Oh send him death that he may live indeed. 



"OUT OF THE DEEP." 

" Alas ! sad eyes that know too much, 
"Turn, turn, oh turn! look not this way 

"Be wise — be wise; my sin was such 
" I cannot bear your glance to-day. 

" I've pierced thine heart in such a wise 
" My own is deadened by thy pain ; 

(< All softening sorrow hopeless dies 
"And through despair I sin again. 

" Strange that thy life God did not keep 
" Secure from such a thing as I !" 

Too late to sever ; she would weep 
(Therefore he lives) if he should die. 



ENGLAND AND PAUPERISM. 

Leisure and wealth ; have we had these ? 

We answer with disguise ; 
With "yes, thank God" from shallow hearts 

Whence no true thanks can rise. 

Just God ! wilt thou accept our thanks 

For gifts that we abuse ? 
For time — we spending years on self, 

Hours to the poor refuse ! 

For wealth — used but to pile the poor 

In here and there a heap, 
Where they may rot unseen since we 

Far from their anguish keep. 



ENGLAND AND PAUPERISM. 

When, quailing souls, alone with Death, 
We think of wealth and ease, 

Shall we who made them twice accursed 
Dare thank our God for these ? 

Peace : we lie here thro' bitter noise 

Made by a chorus strong 
Of thousands sick in body and soul 

To sleep— Lord God, how long ?. 



SONG. 

Oh white rose-bud, my rose, my rose !' 

What is my life to me ? 
Far off I watched thy sweetness blow,— 

Longed I not then for thee ? 

Yet twilight and the reddening dawn, 

I would not hasten these, 
Nor dry the dew-drops on thine heart 

To give mine own more ease. 

Thy leaves, too tender for my touch, 
He plucked with careless praise ; 

I saw thee in his breast and then 
Flung loose on dusty ways. 



SONG. 

Oh rose-bud that shall never bloom, 
At last, when hope has fled, 

I lay thee in the heart that waits 
To break till thou art dead. 



OLIVER CROMWELL, 

Died 3RD September, 1658. 

Let not the day in splendour dawn ; let now 
Black clouds before the rising sun appear, 
And spread o'er England with one close, low, pall, 
And over England rain unceasing tears; 
Let forest trees stretch quivering arms while leaves 
And tender shoots yet green are swirled away ; 
Let not the wild wind cease, save when it dies 
Catching its breath in sobs, to rise again. 
For England's Head and Chief is lying low, 
The eyes which saw for her are dim ; the ears 
Which heard each whisper of her foes are dull ; 
The hands which fought her battle, grasped her helm, 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 

Steering to glory thro' her blackest storm, 
Which gave her Justice and twice offered Law, — 
How helpless lie they ! never more to help. 
England he loved thee ; yea believe that heart 
Which ceases even now, for thee did beat, 
Nor thee forgot thro' twenty years of toil. 
Thine agony was sore, and thine was his ; 
Give him thy tears, and thy hearts' passionate praise; 
Withhold them not should stains in him appear, 
(For stains he dying, cries to God to cleanse) 
Thine was the profit, brand this in thine heart, 
Thine the deliverance, his the load laid on. 
Alone, he held thee from thy doom, and now 
Thy pillar breaking, great will be thy fall. 
Then, fallen, wilt thou mourn thy low estate, 
Or with thine eyes all bleared and dim wilt thou 
Eat and be drunken while the nations jeer ? 
What wilt thou teach thy children of this man ? 
To bless him ever wilt thou train their hearts, 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 23 

For that he left his home, not in hot youth 

Nor hastily, but thro' resolve built up 

Upon foundations slowly laid and deep 

In a tenacious heart, where every wrong 

To others, to his country, to his God, 

Could wait but could not die. What laurel wreath 

Shall children and their children's children lay 

With imitated reverence on his tomb ? 

For thou must honour him who freedom- won, 

Must bless the hand from which thou hadst the boon. 

Yet turns the earth her bosom to the night 

And rests content beneath the brooding dark, 

Forgetting her lost sun. Thou glorious Sun, 

Shall England's soul pass with thy life to-night, 

Her aspirations moulder with thy dust ? 

Oh England, unprotected ever more, 

Loth, thy Protector leaves thee ; dying, prays 

Life at the hands of God to work for thee. 

We also plead ; and those, his dearest ones, 



24 OLIVER CROMWELL. 

O'er whom his great heart ever bent with love 

Such as the wise, the self-forgetting know, — 

They cry to God with tears; but on his face 

Gathers divine denial of our prayers : 

Grey shadows fall from Death's dread wings ; far off 

The great soul verges on eternity. 

For him who from the crush and stress of life 

No respite had these long full years, for him 

Rest is decreed, and lo ! he sleeps in God. 

Mourn England, mourn him, ere thou hast forgot 

What was, what is ; thy griefs which once this man 

Was pitiful to mark and strong to heal; 

Thy glory in this hour, thy prosperous days. 

Yea mourn for what may come while yet thou hast 

A heart exalted to a noble grief; 

For evil days may chance in which shall fall 

Scorn on the corpse of dead Nobility, 

Dead, yea forgotten, while gay baseness thrives. 



OLIVER CROMWELL . 

Then in those days of darkness, should the voice 
Of England lie against her Hero's fame, 
Woe, woe to England ! but for him still rest, — 
" For so He giveth His beloved sleep," 



SONG. 

Dost thou think I captive lie 
To a gracious, glancing eye ? 

Dost thou think I am not free ? 

Nay, I am ; thou freest me. 

All the world could not undo 
Chains which bound me fast to you ; 

Only at your touch they fly, — 

Freer than before am I. 

I care nought for eyes of blue ; 

I loved truth and thought it you ; 
If you charm but to deceive 
All your charms I well can leave. 



SONG. 

Ah my once well loved one, 
Do no more as thou hast done ; 

She that makes true hearts to ache 
Last of all, her own will break. 



2S 



A PICTURE. 

Her eyes are dim, in them 
Tears past and future lie ; 
Her active grief has ceased, 
There riseth not one sigh. 

She looks not, no nor hopes 
For any passing light ; 
She's waiting in the dusk 
The coming of the night. 



A PRAYER. 

Ah holy Lord, ah gentle Christ, 
Who hast not turned thy face away 
From prayers that were impatient, — fierce ; 
Stay with me now, nor let me lose 
My new-born gratitude and faith : 
For these, the sequence of thy gifts, 
Are better than those gifts to hold ; 
Those, make thy child but happier here, 
These, less unfit to go to thee. 



3o 



" CLOSED DOORS." 

Oh child of England ! hast thou aught to say 

Within his holy temple to thy God, 

If this should happen on the seventr; day 



/ 

There mayest thou speak; if not, then thou must plod 



Through many days, till there thou seek his face ;— 
E'en though temptation press thee hard and sore 
And strength is failing, and that prayer for grace 
Was thy last effort, and thou canst no more. 

Now on some week-day if thine heart be hot 
Within thee, to thank Him for mercy given, 
Towards his sanctuary go thou not, 
Its doors are shut and back thou wilt be driven. 



" CLOSED doors:' 

And if wide from thy gracious Lord thou'st erred, 
Yet, late repentant, to thine heart art cut, 
Repent elsewhere for here no vows are heard, 
God's ears are open but his church is shut. 

Oh shepherds, open wide the gates and let 

Returning wand'rers come within the fold ; 

If change seem perilous, remember yet 

By Whom, how moved, were changes made of old. 



EPITAPH. 

Oh Mother Earth ! thou sendest forth 

All fair young things to see the light, 

And common is thy counter work 

Of hiding in thy bosom all 

Dead things and useless — foul remains : 

Thy first fond office was fulfilled 

When, fresh and young, a babe was born ; 

Failing, out-worn, to thee I turn, 

Then exercise thy second care 

And hide me — for I die that I 

May sink into thy bosom and be hid. 



1 CORINTHIANS III. 7. 

" Oh my fair tree, how art thou withered! 

Where are thy buds, thy leaves, thy blossoms gone ? 

An enemy it is that hath done this." 

So mourned I bitterly the whilst I strove 

With watering tears and breezes which were sighs 

If that my gracious plant might live again. 

Then was I weary with persistent death ; 
Beneath my tree I slept — lo ! on my face 
Fell little sheaths, dropped down by bursting buds. 



PARTED. 

And over all there hung a round full moon, 

And underneath the stream in silence sped, 

Its silvered ripples sliding past full soon 

While others pressed behind; these born, these dead. 

Then all were changing; e'en that silver ball 
Of peaceful light, too calm almost to shine, 
Moved, and reluctant there amongst them all. 
As they on their ways, must I pass on mine. 

If all is changing may thy troubles change ! 
If light be shining, may it shine on thee ! 
It peace descending, may it spread its range 
And flood thy soul, and raising, set it free. 



" Thou Shalt worship the Lord thy God, 
and Him only shalt thou serve." 

Thou wilt not feel my loss, I heard them say, 

A verdict just ; 
True steel thou art on which I ever lay 

Like marks of rust. 

Oh Love ! who need'st me not, what was my need 

Of thee ; how great ! 
I was thy reflex and thy thoughts my creed, 

Never thy mate. 

Thy voice to me was like the softest breeze 

Sighing thro' pines ; 
Other sweet sounds have claims; I heard not these 

As God designs. 



36 " THOU SHALT WORSHIP THE LORD." 

Now the long failure of my life with awe 

I contemplate : 
Passionate love alone thro' love of law 

Is consecrate. 

Oh may my life not have deflected thine 

So far aside, 
But that my death may cause its beams to shine, 

Bright, still and wide. 



TO . 

Still, deep and clear one time our friendship lay, 

As lies a noble lake ; 
Therein our souls did bathe, thereon did play, 

No soundings did we take. 

Ah gracious waters ! — not a sudden frost 
Their ripplings sealed in death ; 

Then might a thaw have brought us back the lost, 
With breathings of warm breath. 

They wasted day by day and were withdrawn ; 

The risen sun shone wide 
Where all was arid, from the dewless dawn 

To scorching eventide. 



Ah ! they were but a flood, unfed by streams ; 

Yet I, so fain to slake 
My ardent thirst, must haunt the spot where gleam* 

The mirage of our lake. 

Thou art so changed, thou dost perceive no change ; 

But as a secret deep 
I guard (lest friendship's ghost I should estrange,) 

How much I secret keep. 



' Out of the Fulness of the Heart the 
Mouth speaketh." 



Ereathes there a noble woman now on earth 
Whose wisdom shapes her speech, 

Who having " meat " enough yet feels a dearth 
Unless the " life " she reach. 

Does she aspire to justice, as to love, 

To know, as well as guess, 
To vork 'mongst toilers, not to float above 

And feel the height depress. 

Conscious of power and will, is she then fain 

To use what God bestows ; 
Yet is she modest, not puffed up or vain, 

So that her want she knows ? 



4 o "OUT OF THE FULNESS OF THE HEART 

And needful help from man her other half, 

Will she as humbly take 
As one who, hastening, grasps with thanks a staff 

And double way doth make ? 

If woman's liberty the world denies, 

For that will she so toil 
As one who, exiled, yearns, and struggling, tries 

To reach his native soil ? 

In brief, is there a woman now whose soul 

Created large has grown 
Full-orbed and strong to guide the living wrjole ; 

Regnant, supreme, alone ? 

Wish her not peace, an easy life with man 

Exceptionally just ; 
Let Laws and Customs do the worst they c; 

And grind her in the dust. 



THE MOUTH SPEAKETHr 41 

Let them deny her work and give her time 
To count her heart's own throes ; 

Small thoughts, small interests let them her assign 
And crush her back to those. 

In brief, let legalised injustice fall 

And rend with hydra heads 
Where woman's web of life not being small, 

It most can tear to shreds. 

She is an instrument to touch the heart, 

Strike her until she sound ; 
Her cry sustain until in every part 

An echo she has found. 

Hard words, bad wishes ; yet I think I hear 

Her say, "So let it be; 
" If pain can teach and urge, shall that appear 

" Oh sisters ! shunned by me ? " 



SONNET. 

To a Mother. 
Mother, with a great trust God honours thee, 
And now, if ever, should thyself sink low ; 
Strike now, if ever thou wilt strike a blow 
At all thy sins, thine ignorance, for she 
Who traineth others must in training be. 
Behold these blossoms ; little time ago 
God laid them in thy bosom ; what a glow 
Rose in thine heart o'er each ; how man}' a plea 
For strength and wisdom didst thou raise to God. 
In these days ere they leave the parent stem 
Spend thyself for them : so when all is done — 
All over, from the cradle to the sod, 
Before the Giver thou mayest say, " Of them 
"Which thou hast giv'n to me have I lost none." 



SONG. 

Oh when shall I ask if my Love loves me ? 
In the silent morning that looks so grey 
When a diamond hangs on each blade of grass 
And peers thro' the mist the tender day ? 

But no; I think, I must wait, I must wait, 
For her heart is scarcely lifted from sleep — 
Sleep, envious sleep, who has kissed her till now 
On her tender cheek the roses are deep. 

Shall I ask her now ? It is broad, broad day, 
In the sun's strong light the insects hum ; 
While such millions work why should I do nought, 
While creation murmurs, should I be dumb ? 



SONG. 

Ah ! but I fear to be looked thro' and thro' ; 
This strong, clear light would my poverty show 
As her charm it-shows, and that charm's a shield 
To turn back my hopes as towards her they go. 

But see, the quivering Day 
Bends o'er his bier; 
Twilight with softest steps 
Leads Silence near. 

Against the liquid sky 
Dark fir trees stand, 
Still fingers pointing out 
A distant land. 

Now thousands bend to pray, 
Now children sleep ; 
At leisure and alone 
The mourners weep. 



SONG. 

Solemn the eve, and fit ; yet neither time, 
Nor place, nor chance I will her heart to sway ; 
Calm be her choice, that which so e'er my fate, 
I go w ith reverence or with reverence stay. 



4 6 



''THE WITHERED BUDS OF HOPE." 

Deep in a night of discord as we seem, 
Yet on the gloom I trace a golden dream ; 

There, yearning's dawn drives all thy doubts away, 
And reconcilement broadens into day. 

In that sweet dream as pictured o'er and o'er, 
Thine ancient nobleness thou dost restore ; 
I see thy justice beaming forth again, 
Clouds of self interest flee and leave no stain. 

Grieving o'er me, in that I suffered grief, 

Thy soft repentant kisses bring relief 

So sudden-sweet, I scarce mine anguish hide, 
As harsh words wake me, scattering dreams far wide. 



A FRAGMENT. 

Oh for all tongues — a language — yea one word ! 
Oh for a voice to speak with and be heard ! 
Yes, I have wrongs will take all words to tell; 
Yes, but one word would answer — answer well ! 

I have it not; thou need'st not fear its sound; 
Sweet love, tho' bitter now, has me fast bound ; 
Listen ! you're safe : sweet villain, make no start, 
Be, do not seem, the coward that thou art. 



SONG. 

The sun lay down at the close of day 
And left the world so busy and gay ; 
The sun came back in the morning grey 
And peeped at the world — so quiet it lay ! 

"Moon," said the sun, "I have served you right; 
" You're fit for a world in night cap dight, 
"Now, when all waken and all are gay 
" I take the field and drive you away ! " 



ENGLAND AND SECULAR EDUCATION. 

Is there a Prophet dwelling with us now 
Whose large emotions stir his lofty thoughts, 
Whose heart is fervent, and whose head is clear, 
Whose voice can ring o'er England, trumpet tongued 
And rouse the many, and convert the few ; 
Who, planting shame plants Hope within the heart, 
Creates Endeavour and sustains its life, 
Who less kills evil than creates the good ? — 
Now let him speak for England's eyes are turned 
Where all her future hope is garnered up ; 
Now first she mourns her children as they are 
When first she pictures what they ought to be. 



5 o ENGLAND AND SECULAR EDUCATION. 

Yea, let that Prophet seek of God the words, 

Of Him alone the words that shall persuade 

This England, (who is seeking in the dark 

Her duty, which her will is to perform,) 

That He is truly Omnipresent God, 

And should she teach her children of His works 

And put within their feeble hands the tool 

By which the store of knowledge He vouchsafed 

May be to them laid open more and more, 

She doth teach Him, she doth her children lead 

Towards God, the great Beginning and the End. 

Yea, though no Sect, however vast, hath voice 

And silent on religion's mysteries 

Her teachers speak the mysteries of Earth, 

Of man and of the Heavens, for these things 

Are part of God made manifest and they 

Will lead the souls of those that grasp them unto Him. 



5i 



BALLAD. 

The Youth he came, and he did not stay, 
O silent heart, O silent heart ! 

And what is this that he takes away ? 
Standing apart, aye stand apart. 

It is a valueless human life, 

O silent heart, O silent heart ! 

Now can he get him a bran-new Wife ; 
Standing apart, aye stand apart. 

Let him choose with care this second time, 
O silent heart, O silent heart ! 

For some can't be killed without a crime ; 
Standing apart, aye stand apart. 



52 BALLAD. 

And should he neglect his second choice, 
O silent heart, O silent heart ! 

Far from a corpse, he might find a voice :- 
Standing apart, aye stand apart ! 

A voice, a voice to make itself heard, 
O silent heart, O silent heart! 

To avenge the first and warn the third; — 
Standing apart, aye stand apart. 



E. Bakbbtx & Sons, Printers, 13, Mark Lane, London. 



1 



EH— 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 494 956 



i- ^ ..<.■■;:■■. 



